


To Whom I May Belong

by TheWritingSquid



Series: The Bonds of Family [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Spoiler for V Manga, Spoilers for DMC5, alternate endings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: His arm went up, held straight out, before he could reason himself out of it. He stared ahead as Griffon whooped and landed on it. “We got a deal, then?”“A king needs a jester for his court, Griffon.”“A what now? Hey! Did ya just call me a clown?” Griffon ruffled his feathers, electricity crackling in them.---Vergil has been restored, leaving Griffon and co. without a host. But the demon bird rather loves living, and seeks a new contract for their demonic trio.---Inspired by the lore in the V manga! I couldn't help wonder what would've happened if Griffon had instead forged a second contract and stuck around. It does refer to the manga quite a bit, and I also went all out on the "alternate ending" thing, so expect a good amount of canon divergence. :)





	1. Need

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note so no one's surprise: writing Griffon, Shadow and Nightmare as 'it' quickly got weird, so I gave them pronouns. Griffon is he/his, Shadow is she/her, Nightmare is they/them.
> 
> EDIT NOTE: This was written after VoV's Chapter Two, so obviously not all of it matches the lore later provided.
> 
> And with that, enjoy our power-heady Vergil haha.

Large black wings spread out above him as Griffon circled endlessly, a blue shimmer in them catching with every turn. Vergil kept his hand on the Yamato, his ears perking at the low rumble of a demonic panther behind him. Two out of three. Nightmare wouldn’t be far. A blast of lightning fell right by his side like a warning strike and Griffon banked swooping closer, his aggressive laugh familiar, almost _grounding_.

“Looks like ya got your body back, buddy!” he said, snapping his wings out to come to a stop less than a foot away from Vergil’s face. “S’ _that_ what you call clothing? No chance in hell we’d get that from mugging randos, y’know! Well you got it now, and who you gonna thank for it? Who kept you alive all the way to Urizen? Don’tcha think it’s Gratitude O’Clock for good ol’ Griffon?”

“Nero carried V the last mile,” Vergil said. “ _You_ kept complaining.”

Vergil’s mind began to note abnormalities in the demon bird’s appearance: a string of broken feathers, a thin black line on his flank, the swelling near his three piercing eyes, and how he kept one leg closer to himself, as if to keep it out of the wind. He frowned and turned slightly, to steal a glance at Shadow’s form--and there, the damage was much more obvious. Deep magenta lines flared along the panther’s flanks, the spiky ripples of her fur interrupted by them, and Shadow’s prowling gait felt unnaturally stiff. Vergil scowled, a surge of protective anger swirling in his stomach, and he found himself forced to school his voice before he spoke.

“You’re wounded,” he commented coolly.

Griffon’s flight slowed. “Just a flesh wound! A bit of ashing off, y’know, for the fun of it. What’s a few slices between friends, anyway? We did give him a run for his money, though, didn’t we, kitty?”

Shadow responded with a low roar, and it only deepened Vergil’s scowl. “Dante?”

He would’ve been on his way up even now, running straight for Vergil, his strength returning with every step up the Qliphoth. Few others could've inflicted such damage on these three demons.

“The one and only Legendary Demon Hunter!” Griffon cackled again. “He ain’t so bad.”

“Why aren’t you stalemating?” Vergil asked, ignoring the comment about Dante entirely. It wasn’t about Dante being _bad_ \--they were long past such considerations.

Griffon let out a heavy, quite overdramatic sigh, as if he couldn’t believe he had to explain this. “Nightmare gave us all they could, but I ain’t gonna waste my last hours in a stalemate when I could be _livin’_!”

Their last hours…

Behind Griffon, Nightmare finally emerged, and they were… diminished, no more than two feet taller than Vergil now, the bony ridges along their core and arms cracked. Their purple orb shone bright still, but the colour seemed off, almost grayed out. At first he thought this an impossibility; they weren’t real, only manifestations, and their bodies always recovered. Then Vergil pulled his sleeve down, to stare at his bare skin, and he understood what was missing. Of course.

“You’re here because you need a host,” he concluded.

“From Shakespeare to Sherlock, huh?” Griffon replied. “Ya want congratulations for using that one neuron?”

“How quaint.” Vergil kept his hand on the Yamato as he followed Griffon’s flight, his amusement growing with every second. Did this poor disillusioned bird still believe he held any sway over Vergil’s life? They had served their purpose, guarding his frail human body until it arrived at a defeated Urizen, but now? The Qliphoth’s power coursed through him. Such reliance on others was well past him.

“I don’t need you anymore.”

“It doesn’t have to be about need, paper boy.”

 _Paper boy_. Once, Griffon had told V his body was made of paper--all the strength and solidity had gone to Urizen, leaving his human self almost as much a dream as the three summons he’d eventually entered a contract with--and the nickname had stayed, a reminder of his frailty, of how much he’d needed the demons' help. Vergil clenched his hand. He wasn’t weak anymore; he had conquered even death. He tilted his chin up and was about to remind Griffon when a massive head butted his legs with affection, wordlessly clarifying what Griffon, despite his endless rambles, was leaving in-between the lines. Vergil let his left hand fall to the top of the panther’s head--a habit, really--and he closed his eyes as the fur rippled in tiny spikes, like a massage in his palm.

“You would choose this--another contract.” But no, that was the wrong conclusion. Their other choice was to disappear; they needed a host. He let the constant wind of Griffon’s wings brush against his cheeks as he realigned his thoughts. “You would choose _me_.”

And why not, he asked himself. They had destroyed countless demons together, crushing them, and he now had the Qliphoth’s power coursing through him. He was, by all logic, a safe choice, unlikely to perish anytime soon. But Griffon’s early words to V still echoed through him. _It’s not like we were friends or anything._

“Ya got that right, paper boy.” He started circling around Vergil again, closer than before. Griffon never stayed put long. “Was tempted to traumatize some poor soul into it, but scarin’ people shitless is only fun for so long, ya know? And the lot of us, we worked real hard to get your flimsy ass into one piece. You owe us.”

Vergil scoffed. “I owe _no one_.”

And yet, and yet. He wouldn’t be there without them. V wouldn’t have survived and Urizen would’ve ended pierced through by Dante’s blade. The pain from that strike still seared his chest, healed but not forgotten. It wasn’t over. Dante was recovering even now, and they would finally settle the matter. And then… then he would be alone again.

It didn’t have to be about need, did it? Vergil hesitated a moment more, his mind lingering on the foolishness of encumbering himself with three demons even as his heart whispered he might miss them, should they truly vanish.

His arm went up, held straight out, before he could reason himself out of it. He stared ahead as Griffon _whooped_ and landed on it. “We got a deal, then?”

“A king needs a jester for his court, Griffon.”

“A _what_ now? Hey! Did ya just call me a clown?” Griffon ruffled his feathers, electricity crackling in them.

Vergil allowed himself a smile. “Have I? A word of warning, however. The _last_ jester I met thought he could double-cross me for power rightfully mine. His demise was… unpleasant.”

“Betray you? I’d never!” Griffon cackled and flew off, banking in a quick turn to then land _directly_ on Vergil’s head. “We’re a team! C’mon, do the binding, paper boy. You’re stuck with us for life--whether you like it or not.”

For life, was it? Vergil considered his options. As V, he'd had little choice but to form a somewhat equal partnership, allowing Griffon and the others a fair amount of free will within the constraints of the bindings. But now, with the demonic power flowing through him? He could do _anything._ He could have three generals at his command, feed their spirits the strength of the Qliphoth, make them more powerful than they had ever been under Mundus. Already, he felt his magic surge in preparation, a jolt of pure energy that lit blue flames along his arms and sent a shiver coursing through his body. His hands lengthened into claws and his head spun with the possibilities. Griffon wanted a contract, but Vergil knew he could impose his will upon it without negotiations--could force them to submit unquestioningly, as they once had to Mundus.

As _he_ had once had been forced to.

The energy dropped, flat lining brutally and stealing his breath. Griffon flew off, coming around to face him. "Huh, V? What's wrong?"

Vergil stared at him, trying to understand what Griffon could be thinking--and Shadow and Nightmare, too. Had they not all been through Mundus' reign before? Was death not preferable to the powerless submission? He remembered so little of it now, had been left with nothing but the twist in his gut and slight nausea at the very thought of it, because it had been horrible enough to cast away from himself. Perhaps it had been different for them; they had been tools, not the object of his revenge. Even so…

"You're the dumbest bird I've ever met," he said.

Griffon laughed, and the _caw-ha_ sound echoed far and wide on their Qliphoth platform. "Only cause the other birds don't talk."

True enough, he could only concede this point. Griffon would get one chance to change his mind, then, and avoid this contract. "Are you sure about this?"

"Look, here, smartass, we don’t all get to be big brains and I’ve yet to impale myself on a sword, so I ain’t sure which of us is the worse here. I ain’t a complete numbskull.”

Vergil touched the Yamato’s sheath at the rebuttal. He’d missed it in his time split up, like half of him had been wrenched away, and Urizen had never quite grasped its significance--only its power. Griffon still didn’t seem to understand that entering a contract with someone wielding Vergil’s newfound power was even less prudent. His loss, then.

“Very well, then. Griffon. Shadow. Nightmare.” He closed his eyes briefly, savouring their name on his tongue, how easily they flowed from him, as if they’d always belonged there. “Let’s make a contract.”

At his command, Nightmare emerged from below Vergil’s feet, bubbling up until he had one foot planted firmly on the bony ridges of each shoulder. Nightmare rose to their full height slowly, a majestic demon. Shadow prowled below while Griffon circled above. Three familiars. A team.

 _Friends_ , his mind provided, and he immediately discarded the thought. He had no use for such sentimentality. Vergil shed off his coat before drawing the Yamato out. The sound of its blade against the sheath was music to his ears.

"Hear me, demons.” He cast his voice out, firm and rippling with power. “I am Vergil, Son of Sparda, Wielder of the Yamato and King of the Demon World."

Already, power surged through him once more, bubbling from deep within, so _easily_ reacting to his command. Vergil twirled the Yamato and set it against his palm, the thin edge digging in through his glove. "Here, at the top of the Qliphoth, at the peak of _my power_ , I name thee mine--"

He slashed his hand, cutting in deep and keeping it wrapped around the Yamato, letting blood pool upon it. It poured out, drawn by the magic of his binding, eager for it. Vergil gritted his teeth against the pain and let it go, finishing the ritual.

"--and bind you."

He leaped up, holding the Yamato at an angle while bringing his arms close to rotate on himself, sending the blood sliding along the sword until it flew off and spread in a perfect circle of red drops, drawing the simplest of ritual circles.

The moment his boots touched Nightmare again, the circle lit up. Blue flames sprang from the droplets, surging upward and arcing above their heads only to plunge back into Vergil. He held fast under the renewed surge of power and released the Yamato to let it float before him. The blade spun slowly, blood dripping from its tip as it hung in the center of the ritual circle.

"Nightmare," he declared, and the flames sank through him, past his feet and to the creature under him.

_The Heart. Silent, Steady, Supreme. Our gentle giant. Heed my calling and surge forth at my bidding. Bind yourself to me, to my power, until the day you choose otherwise._

The demon under him shook, their great body slowly shifting, growing, healing, until they sank upward and into Vergil, leaving spinning tattoos on his legs and lower chest. Their mind nestled against Vergil's, relief at the forefront of it, like they were glad for a familiar landscape to rest in. Nightmare vanished slowly, until nothing but the Qliphoth lay under his feet.

Vergil reached downward with his left hand, fingers stretched out, until a spiky panther’s head rubbed into it.

“Shadow,” he whispered, his voice firm.

Blue flames danced along his arm, leaping upon Shadow, sinking into the magenta pattern on her skin, knitting back the burned flesh of her wounds.

_The Muscle. Strong, Deadly, Versatile. Our rippling feline. Heed my calling and lend me your body. Bind yourself to me, to my power, until the day you choose otherwise._

Shadow roared, the powerful cry echoing deep within Vergil’s bones and mind. Her head vanished, transforming a large mouth lined with sharp teeth, and it clamped on Vergil’s arm, sending sharp pain through him before she, too, sank down into his flesh, leaving a jagged pattern of ink up his left arm and part of his chest. Shadow paced restlessly in his mind, eager to come out and play.

The Yamato’s spinning slowed and Vergil’s gaze found Griffon, flying overhead, well within the confines of his ritual circle. Vergil lifted his right arm and kept it ramrod straight as he called to his last familiar.

“Griffon.”

The blue flames shot upward, catching Griffon as he passed above, dragging a surprised “Woo, hey, _ouch_!” out of him when it sank into his wounds. He dove down and landed on Vergil’s outstretched arm, snapping his wings out a few times

“Ya got a special effect update huh? Real cool, real dramatic!”

“Real powerful,” Vergil corrected, and the fire engulfed Griffon’s reply, wrapping itself around him in a great blue cocoon.

_The Voice. Quick, Feisty, Electrifying. Our anxious guide. Heed my calling and grant me your company. Bind yourself to me, to my power, until the day you choose otherwise._

Griffon’s claws tightened on his arm before they began melding into it. The bird’s jittery laugh echoed into Vergil’s mind as his body slowly fused with his arm, transforming into swirling patterns that covered Vergil all the way to Shadow’s own ink. Unlike the others, Griffon left more than a presence in his mind, speaking directly to it.

_“Company, huh?”_

Vergil didn’t bother with a reply. Contract wordings created themselves, drawing from the core of a feeling, a sketched representation of it more than legalese to obey. Each of them would know what the bind entailed; each of them could leave at any time, without his permission, if it no longer suited them. He would never be Mundus, crushing them under his will without any possible escape. Breaking the contract might lead to their eventual disappearance, but it would at least be on their own terms.

After a glance at the tattoo once more covering his arm, Vergil retrieved the Yamato from its floating point. Those contracts had taken every ounce of V’s strength, but now it was barely a flick of his power. The blue flames dissipated, leaving him alone in the middle of the platform.

 _“Alone?”_ Griffon asked in his mind, before springing forth above him. “Ya asked for company. You’ll never be alone!”

“I have a feeling regrets might dog me for that decision, yes.”

A tiny spark hit Vergil’s cheek in retaliation. “Ya don’t meant that.”

Vergil glared at him in answer, which only made Griffon laugh and swoop down, to come rest directly on his head again. Vergil smacked him with the Yamato's scabbard, throwing him off, then spun his blade and sheathed it back in.

"I do."  He ran a hand through his ruffled hair, placing it back, and glared at the bird circling him again. "Do that again and our contract is off."

Griffon snapped his beak with a laugh. "My _my_ , but someone's precious about his hair! What's wrong, Vergil? Afraid you'll look too much like your lil' bro with it down?"

Time snapped to a stop at Vergil's command and a single, perfect jump brought him right above Griffon. He landed on _his_ head and when Griffon tried to dematerialize, he yanked at his spirit with the newfound bind and kept his body from vanishing, bringing them both down and slamming the massive bird into the ground. Griffon groaned on impact.

"Wow hey, ya ain't no sissy anymore. It's like we put V on steroids! How did ya do that?"

"Power." He didn't move. Perhaps Griffon needed to better appreciate the changes in their relationship before he made another casual comparison between Dante and him.

"That Qliphoth fruit was really something else, huh?" Thick muscles moved as Griffon tried to twist his head. "That's good! We're gonna need it. Urizen still couldn't win against D--"

Vergil shifted his boot and stomped on Griffon's head, interrupting him. "There is no _we_. Don’t mistake this new binding for your old, Griffon. You’re lesser demons and I could crush you with barely an afterthought. This is… a favour I’m doing you. As recognition for your past services.” Right. That’s why Griffon’s wording had emerged as a form of companionship. Vergil angrily pushed the thought away and stepped off the bird. “If you don’t like it, you can leave.”

Griffon shook himself, ruffling his feathers and hopping a few feet away before taking off. “Gotcha loud and clear, paper boy.” He let electricity ran along his wings, as if testing out his powers again. “About that leaving thing, huh…”

Griffon trailed off, and Vergil could feel the others stir in his mind. Shadow reemerged, letting out a low rumble one could almost call a purr, and Griffon landed on her back. He practically hopped from one foot to another, leaving Vergil with the strange impression he was _nervous_ , but not in the habitual ‘this big demon is about to kill me’ way. Vergil stared at him.

“No amount of power could let me force you to stay,” he confirmed, his voice carefully cold to mask the awfully human way his stomach twisted. “If you find a new host, or if you’d rather accept the consequence of leaving, it will always be your choice.”

Griffon clacked his beak. Vergil steeled himself for the inevitable joke, only for the bird to surprise him. “We appreciate it. Really do.”

Vergil scoffed, because otherwise he’d have to admit he’d cared enough about their free will to treat them as equals and block even himself from ever enslaving them. Instead of answering, he let his mind fall to the pulsing power of the Qliphoth below him and brought forth twisting branches, forming a small seat for himself. Vergil picked up his coat, put it back on, and settled in, casting his gaze outward and refocusing his mind on the battle to come--the only one that truly mattered.

“When he arrives… Dante’s mine to fight-- _alone_.”

One branch extended out of the top of his seat, larger than the others, and Griffon flew to it. Shadow instead sprawled at his feet, as she so often had when he’d been V. Very slowly, Nightmare emerged behind, their large body overshadowing the throne. It felt like a silent protest, and Vergil bristled at their daring. There was one rule he would not see broken, not when it came to Dante. His fingers tightened around the Yamato.

“No matter what happens, do not interfere.”


	2. Interference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Griffon disobeys Vergil's last command, and we all thank him for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to Nero, whom I've totally cut out of his own storyline for the sake of my Familiars Live and Other Thought Experiments.
> 
> cw: this is where the canon-typical violence goes, so be warned some of the descriptions get more gory.

Vergil was losing.

Griffon knew it, a certainty as clear to him as the beauty of his voice, the thrill of being alive, raining lightning down on his enemies, and the very imminent end of it all.

They were kinda scary to watch, the two of them. A blitz of swords flashing in the sunlight, the metallic _cling_ of their meetings almost a music. Two fast buggers trying to get a strike at the other, demonic power rolling out of them in waves. Vergil had started strong, slicing through his brother with quick and precise hits, but nothing of the sort could slow Dante. The younger twin fought back with equal energy, holding his own and scoring deep gashes with his brand new sword. In all appearance, equally matched. And yet, Griffon knew Vergil was losing.

Perhaps he felt it as Vergil did, the shift in the man’s emotion seeping through their bond, first as a tight, controlled focus, then as a growing frustration. And that was an understandable thing--it was frustrating to watch Dante parry and dodge and taunt restlessly, always just in the nick of time--but when a hint of confusion added itself to Vergil’s diffuse feelings? When it grew, threading itself into the irritation at Dante’s skill? Yeah, no good at all, that. Something in the fight shifted; Vergil's quick combos turned less calculated, more desperate, and gradually less efficient. More and more, one question looped back to the forefront of his mind, so strong Griffon could hear it loud and clear in his own: _would he ever be strong enough?_

Doubt settled into Vergil, and if anyone asked Griffon (no one would; no one appreciated his well of wisdom), the doubt did him in. And with every new gash the Devil Sword Dante ripped through Vergil, the doubt grew, overpowering the rest. What started as an equal fight took a turn for the worse, until Griffon wished he could wrench his mind away from it, stop watching the painful accumulation of wounds on Vergil, stop sharing into the deepening of his angry denial, stop his own rising panic.

Then Dante got in close, sword first, the blade plunging through Vergil all the way to the hilt. Vergil grunted and countered with a series of summoned blade, but Dante only kicked him back, pulling the blade out with one hand while he shot the swords down with Ivory. Vergil fell on his knees and hands, his wounds gushing out. Life fleeing out of him. Definitely, absolutely losing. Way past any chance of return.

Vergil’s entire body was shaking as he fought to get up, blood pouring from several wounds, the Qliphoth under him slick from it. He slipped and fell back down with a groan, and the shock of his body rippled through Griffon’s very soul, a warning. He was dying, and if he did, so would they. And they’d just made a new contract!

Dante approached, his too-cool-for-school Devil Sword Dante dragging along the floor, every step heavy from exhaustion. Coming in for the finishing blow, Griffon guessed. This wasn’t happening--couldn’t! Not just like that, not after all they’d done. He had to do something!

_No matter what happens, do not interfere._

What a fool. Downright ludicrous! Vergil had known he might lose, the arrogant, prideful jerk. He’d known and he wanted Griffon to stand aside and watch! Well, that wasn’t in the contract, and Griffon wasn’t about to let his favourite idiot die over some brotherly quarrel! Where was the fun in that?

Dante stopped a step away from Vergil, wind blowing in his hair as he stared down at his brother. He placed the tip of his boot on Vergil’s shoulder and pushed him, rolling him over on his back. Vergil moaned, and waves of angry humiliation washed away from him, crowding Griffon’s mind through their link.

“Dante…” He coughed--a wet sound, the kind Griffon usually heard when he made blood-soaked empusa explode with lightning. Not a good sound, not at all, not coming from people you wanted to live. “I’ll come back… as often as I need… to… defeat you.”

“No, Vergil. This is over.”

Oh boy but there was something _raw_ in Dante’s voice, the kind of shit you couldn’t cover up with a joke or two. Not-smiling made Dante downright terrifying, Griffon decided. No way the three of them could win against him, he’d proven that already. They were totally outmatched.

Vergil’s eyes narrowed, determination welling through his bitterness, and his grip tightened on the Yamato, like he could still fight. Dante just kicked it away with a sad scoff, then slowly lifted the Devil Sword. They were all gonna die. All of them, squirrelled away in Vergil, and Griffon could feel his two companion’s agitation.

_No matter what happens, do not interfere._

What a load of bull. They had a contract! For life! For _company_ (Griffon had loved that, actually; he hadn’t thought Vergil liked him at all, really, even though he liked to think V had, in his own weird way). None of this was remotely acceptable. But, hey, good thing Griffon wasn’t a clown, he was a king--the king of interference!

“Goodbye, Vergil,” Dante said.

“ _W_ _ait!”_ Griffon pushed his body out of Vergil, materializing in a shower of sparks above him, flying straight at Dante and causing him to stumble back a step. “Wait. Wait wait wait.”

‘Wait’ was a good word when you found the tip of a fiery demon sword pointed right at you, and you didn’t know what else to say, and the very asshole whose life you were trying to save was mentally reaching out, putting all the shattered remains of his power in an effort to force you back into him.

Dante flashed a smile at him, the smirk as deadly as the sword. “Hey, the lil’ birdie’s back! You might wanna get out of the way. Sword cuts won’t look good on ya, and I got business to finish.”

“Wait!” he said again, and he really needed another word, didn’t he? But his brain was running as fast as it could in the face of imminent death, except it was kind of running in circles around said death, and that really was no good, no good at all. Every second was one more in which Vergil continued to die.

Then Shadow rumbled behind him, the slow and steady sound cooling the whirlwind of his mind. He couldn’t stall on words now. He was their Voice, wasn’t he? (He really liked that contract, damnit; it wasn’t every day that arrogant jerk let slip so much of what went on in his head!) Everyone needed him to speak for them, so he let their collective feeling course through him and shape his words.

“He’s ours.”

Dante lifted the Devil Sword and set it on his shoulder, shaking his head. “Wish that was true, my good chicken friend, but he’s been my problem for twenty-something years now.”

"Aah, but he doesn't have to be, does he?"

Dante narrowed his eyes at him, but he didn't seem a split second from impaling his brother anymore. Progress, right? Griffon started flying circles around him. Shadow had morphed into a half-circle barrier around Vergil, spikes ready to jut out, and Nightmare towered behind, massive arms on the ground at each side of their dying host. Flecks of ashes drifted from both of them already. They were running out of time, and he needed to convince Dante not to kill them all.

"Just take the Yamato and go."

" _No._ "

Vergil's voice was barely a croak by now, but Griffon didn't need the binding's link to feel the anguish through him. Dante stared at his brother while he replied.

"Can't do that, buddy. He'll be back for it, and he'll still have all the power from that stupid fruit."

"Lots of good that did him. Look at him. Dude's a wreck."

Deep-seated anger spiked through Vergil, and-- _somehow_ \--this particular wreck found the energy to lift a hand, summon a shimmering blue sword and send it flying his way. Griffon dove down, barely dodging, and Vergil's hand flopped back down, inert. Their link was weakening, ebbing away with Vergil’s life, but Griffon still sensed how betrayed his host felt, so he sent back as strongly as he could _“You gotta live if you wanna kill me for it, dumbass._ ”

"A stubborn one," he added. And Vergil was really ruining their chances here. He flew to Nightmare's shoulder. "Hey, love, can you knock him out good? 'Cause I'm tryin' to have a talk with our Wise Friend Dante here, and our paper boy keeps interrupting."

Nightmare obliged, one big fist crashing over Vergil’s face, covering it up and sending Vergil into sweet unconsciousness for good. Dante jerked at the movement--it actually looked like he’d rush in to protect his bro for one hot second there!--and Griffon burst out laughing. These two boys were all transparent bluster, weren’t they?

“Ya don’t wanna off him,” he said, flying off Nightmare’s shoulder.

Dante scoffed. “Kinda do, actually.”

“Oh, I mean, I get the feeling--he’s _insufferable_!” Griffon cackled again, circled around to face Dante, and added “but some humans are… you kinda get attached to the creatures, y’know? And he’s human all right, for all that he doesn’t wanna be. _Our_ human.”

“He needs to be stopped, and I’m the one to do it.” Dante took a deep breath, smacked a smile to his face, and gave his big sword a quick twirl. “At the end of the day, that’s really all there is to it. You wanna live? You get out of the way.”

Dante stepped forward, and Griffon could mentally feel him counting the seconds he was giving Griffon to make his escape. Stubborn had to run in the family or something. Griffon snapped his beak. He wasn't gonna give up that easily either. “Ya don’t know what V told Nero in those last moments before they reached Urizen, do ya? Ya got no clue what lies in your big bro’s heart. Might just break yours.”

Dante’s hands clamped around his beak and he pulled Griffon dangerously close, his smile gone. “He told me himself, little chicken, right before he ate his damn fruit. That power was all he ever wanted--and he’s got it now, the whole world be damned.”

He flung Griffon away and took another step towards Vergil, only to be met with a flurry of spikes. Shadow growled at him, her form rippling protectively over the body. The Devil Sword split in two, waves of power washing off from it and Dante. Griffon snapped his wings to catch himself midair and flew right back in.

“Then take his power!” He landed on Dante’s shoulder, digging his claws in the red coat and extending a conspiratorial wing over his head. “We want _him_ , Dante, not his power. And here’s his dirty little secret: he’s an arrogant child who thinks he needs to be strong but dreams of mommy’s arms. Take his toys and leave him to us.”

For a moment there, Dante looked like he’d been slapped. Didn’t last all that long--he was real quick to put that smile back on--but Griffon could’ve sang from it. He was getting somewhere! Good ol’ family feels, huh? Dante’s gaze shifted to the Yamato, and Griffon plunged on his opportunity.

“That’s right! Split-Up Sword over there ain’t just for ripping the human bits off. V said it could split power from the heart, too.” So, okay, he was blabbering about stuff he didn’t know shit about, but if he made them sound real, that was enough, wasn’t it? Dante probably knew the sword better, anyway. He’d figure it out, if he could be convinced to try. “C’mon, Demon Mick Jagger. Ya won’t regret it.”

Dante bent over to pick up the Yamato, and Griffon left his shoulder, mentally preparing himself for the fight of his life. Like they had any chance against a full-powered Sparda. But they had to try, didn’t they, if he went in for the kill? Dante gave the bloodied Yamato a few spins, his unusual silence deafening. His gaze shifted from it to Vergil, then back to the Yamato, then again at Vergil, and it stayed there, hard and fast and oh-so-blue, like darkening skies.

It was torture, pure torture, to not have any idea what he was thinking. Griffon flapped nervously, hovering above Shadow, electricity crackling along his wings. He barely knew Dante, all things considered, and he was gambling his life on the man’s mercy. Maybe he really _was_ the dumbest bird alive. And yet, somewhere deep inside him, through his jumbled memories of his time under Mundus, he thought he remembered Dante’s voice, telling him not to pointlessly fight while dying.

Dante stepped closer, his eyes still locked on the sprawled body behind Griffon. “Nothing’s ever simple when you’re involved, is it, Vergil?” He spun the Yamato again, then tilted his head towards Griffon. “Are you sure you want him?”

A jolt of joy coursed through Griffon. Behind him, Shadow purred and set a massive paw on Vergil’s wounded side even as Nightmare’s gem shone brighter. Griffon let the sparks around his wings dance and cackled. “Horrible decision-making, I know.”

“Your loss,” Dante answered. Shadow gave way to him, and Dante stopped by his brother’s chest, dark boots in a shining pool of blood. “Let’s make him yours, then, shall we?”

Dante flipped his grip on the Yamato and, without any ceremony, he brought it down, piercing Vergil with it. Waves of power roiled out of the pair as a shining beam burst upward, and a deep raw scream tore from Vergil’s throat. The man’s battered body arched with pain, sliding along the blade as it did, and his mind began to fight.

The sheer willpower behind Vergil’s reaction knocked Griffon out of the air. He could feel it through the mindlink, all the rage and bitterness and desperation clawing up, grasping at the threads of power being pulled away by the Yamato, clinging as best as he could despite his weakened state. A soul crying for power and the growing terror of being left without, of becoming helpless, of having defeat seared into him again.

 _Hot damn_ , that was a lil’ too much insight for poor old Griffon. He hopped back to his feet, trying to shut down the link to some extent and fight off his big surge of guilt from letting Dante do this to him. He flew up to Nightmare, drawing comfort from the tall and overprotective demon, and remained quiet as Vergil’s half-conscious grief and anger kept washing up to his mind, slowly diminishing as he lost his fight and slid back into oblivion.

Dante held steady through the process, hair flying up as a great blue shape shimmered into life above them, Urizen’s broad shoulders, spikes and eyes all too recognizable. He twisted the blade and the beam of light engulfed the demon’s form then spun on itself, narrowing over time until it coalesced into a familiar thin white cane. Vergil moaned softly, the sound barely audible as it slipped out of his throat, and the last of the light sank into the cane. It dropped into Dante’s opened hand, pulsing with obvious power. Without a word, the younger twin pulled out the Yamato from Vergil’s chest, picked up its scabbard from where it lay in Vergil’s blood, and slid the sword back in.

Griffon’s mind had gone almost entirely quiet now, and the Qliphoth rumbled under their feet, cut off from one of its main power source.

“Take care of him,” Dante said.

He walked away, never looking at Vergil or any of them--which, _totally rude_ , seriously, did any of these Spardas have any manners? But there’d been a catch in his voice, the roughness of human tears, and Griffon let it go with no more than an angry flap of his wings. He watched Dante walk to the edge and leap off, the Yamato and the cane side by side in his hands, then turned to the broken man he’d worked so hard to save.

“All right, paper boy, let’s get outta here and fix you up.”

He swooped down and picked up Vergil’s body between his claws, childishly refusing to let Nightmare carry him instead, and flew right off the Qliphoth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic going "it'd be so cute and wholesome if Vergil kept his familiars!!" and so of course my brain immediately made it sad and angsty by changing the ending so Vergil would stay with only his new pals through the worst iteration possible LOL. #oops


	3. Parasite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vergil wakes up, powerless and wounded, and has a few unkind words for his new companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for suicide ideation in this particular chapter

Blood trickled down his leg as he sprinted through the tombstones, his heart beating faster than his feet on the pavement, his small fingers clutched around the sheath of a blade as long as he was tall. Darkness swelled around him, closing down on his heels, its thick void hosting the night's terror. Screeching laughter, clicking claws, and snapping jaws had dogged every scrambling stride of his desperate run forward, until his foot caught in a upturned stone and he fell forward, knees scraping the ground before his chin smashed against it. Stars burst through his skull and something hard pressed into his chest--the amulet.

Panicked, he reached for it, making sure it hadn't broken, not so soon after receiving it. Dante broke things. He didn't. Too late, he realized the steady beating of wings had closed in on him. He fumbled with the long katana-- _his sword_ \--and got it out as he hurried to his feet, ready to defend himself. He was a Son of Sparda. He wasn’t scared, and his hands weren’t shaking, and he _wasn’t_ stumbling back, away from the long claws, twisted limbs, and gnashing teeth emerging into the moonlight. He gritted his teeth and raised the Yamato proudly as more demons surrounded him.

They laughed, and knocked it right out of his small, weak hands, and suddenly claws were tearing through his clothes and he was screaming, and falling, his back against a tombstone as the beating of wings filled his ears. Blinding pain burst into his chest, and his tear-filled eyes caught sight of the sword sticking out before they unfocused entirely.

Vergil woke with a start, the nightmare clinging to him, pain in his chest and the constant beat of wings following him out of his sleep. He sat up, reaching for the sword surely sticking out of him, only to grasp at thin air and find a gigantic blue bird swooping towards him.

"You're alive!"

_Griffon_. Relief and joy that belonged to the demon bird washed through Vergil's mind, startling him. He shut it off the best he could while flashes of what had happened returned to him, each new memory of his defeat burning hard, leaving him hollow. He had lost. _Again._ No amount of power--no amount of sacrifices--would ever be enough to make him untouchable. It'd been all in vain. Rising the Temen-ni-gru, surviving Mundus, ripping his body into halves… all of it for nothing.

"Woah there, paper boy. You're shaking like a leaf on the wind."

“I--” He tried to control himself but couldn’t stop it. It was like an earthquake going through him, shattering his foundations. He had lost.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Griffon said, and something gentle pushed at Vergil’s mind again. “We got you.”

“You…” Got him? They’d done this, had inflicted the powerlessness upon him. Vergil’s hand shot out and he grabbed Griffon’s beak, ignoring the pain blooming through his body at the sudden movement. His throat was parched and every word a challenge to get out. “I’d told you not to interfere.”

He tried to fling Griffon away, but the strain on his arm drained him of any strength, and the bird had barely flown a foot before he snapped his wings open and slowed himself. “Boy is saving your ass one thankless task! You’d be twice dead without poor ol’ Griffon and this is what I get?”

Vergil clenched his hands. He didn’t _care_ to be saved. What had surviving ever given him but more pain? “He took everything, didn’t he? The Yamato… my powers…”

“He didn’t take your life,” Griffon argued.

“Much good that does me!” Vergil scoffed. Griffon didn’t understand. He couldn’t stay like this, an empty body, left with nothing but the searing pain of his defeat. For so long, he’d wanted only to keep going, to spite those intent on killing him, but this… splitting himself in halves had been his last gamble, his one ultimate chance to attain the power he needed--and he’d failed. “And you want me to be thankful for this husk.”

“Yup. You got that right. Wasn’t all that easy to keep you with us, paper boy!”

Griffon landed on a destroyed bookshelf, and for the first time Vergil took stock of his surroundings. He seemed to be in what used to be an office, with the remnants of a desk smashed in two and shredded books on all type of electronics. His clothes hung from a cable, large blood stains still perceptible but otherwise clean. How had they managed to undress him? And… he glanced down at his chest, painted dark with tattoos, where the pretense of bandages covered his deepest cuts. His three critters didn’t have hands to speak of, and yet…

“How…”

“I instructed Shadow,” Griffon answered. “Your healing wasn’t kicking in very well, y’know? Nightmare did their best, but they couldn’t fix you the way they do us. So we found a rare blood knot still going and got some more human blood in you, and after that Nightmare seemed to manage to feed you their energy. Knocked ‘em right out, though, so don’t expect them around for a while. Lots of work, I tell ya!”

“How pointless.”

Well, perhaps not entirely. They’d have been without a host, if he’d died, and without another pathetic human to bind with, they’d have been dead. Keeping him alive was only pragmatic, yet the bitter sense of betrayal boiled within him. His instructions had been clear. He’d been ready to accept the issue of his battle with Dante--no matter what happened.

“Leave me, Griffon.”

“Leave?” Griffon bristled. “Here I thought I was good company! That’s what you--” He caught Vergil’s glare, stopped himself with a huff, and took off. “All right, Broody McBrood. Ya take some time alone. But remember: the three of us? We ain’t leaving you behind. We can all be one, big fucked up family.”

He flew out through the broken wall, the sun catching in his bright blue wings as he left the room.

_Family_. Such a loaded word. He’d always been so proud of his, so convinced it defined who he was. But Sparda had been an incredibly powerful demon and Dante’s own strength rivalled it now while he… Vergil looked at his hands and reached within, to the familiar place where his own demonic power had always pooled, only to find it empty. Nothing shifted in him as he pulled upon it--his perception of time didn’t shift, his skin remained pink and vulnerable, and the echoes of swords, once so easily summoned, remained silent. He was _nothing_ now, had lost everything passed down to him by his family--first his amulet, and now his sword and powers.

But no… they’re weren’t lost. They had been taken from him. Taken by Dante, who had left him whole yet so very weak, so powerless-- _so human_. But humans never gave up, didn’t they? And neither would he. Sooner or later, no matter what it took, he would retrieve what was his.

 

###

 

“No no no no, absolutely not, we are _not_ going to the Devil May Cry.” Griffon landed atop his favourite perch, the broken bookshelf from which he’d watched Vergil slowly recover over the last two days and which placed him at eye level with the incredibly, ridiculously daft man. “Ya knocked your head too hard or what? He’ll kill you!”

He should be glad Vergil hadn’t spent weeks wallowing about his fate, even though that hadn’t ever been his type, but this was kinda the _opposite_ of what Griffon wanted. He’d left the man alone for a few hours only to find him completely dressed up once more, hair swept back and expression severe, like his entire body wasn’t shaking from the exertion. Like Griffon couldn’t feel how damn near collapsing he was through their link.

“I must reclaim what’s mine.”

Ugh, he was still thinking about this damn power. Of course. Griffon snapped his wings, letting some of his irritation seep through their bond, and mentally reached for the others. “It ain’t yours anymore, chief. Dante won. Dontcha wanna do something else with your life?”

Vergil glared at him, and for all that he otherwise kept his expression carefully schooled, anger rippled out of him in powerful waves. That mindlink really made him easy to read, and Griffon wasn't gonna complain. If he had to convince Vergil not to walk straight back to death's door, he had his work cut out for him.

"You don't understand," Vergil said.

"Cause it's nonsense, paper boy!"

"Not to me."

And he walked off, his strides determined despite shaky legs, his eyes set on the destroyed doorway. Probably didn't realise that was a second floor drop, the rest of the building a pile of rubble at the bottom--not that Vergil wouldn't jump that without an afterthought, even at the risk of his knees giving in upon landing. Griffon let him take a few steps (it _was_ good exercise, and Vergil hadn't moved much for the last few days) and when Vergil neared the exit, Griffon called for reinforcements.

_Shadow._

Vergil startled--he would've heard it, too, unlike the silent passing of demon thoughts, which would always remain an incomprehensible jumble to him. The great panther materialized in front of him, coalescing into a solid body halfway through a pounce, large paws hitting Vergil's shoulders and bringing him down. He hit on the ground with a moan but recovered instantly, and Griffon felt the push of his willpower against them.

_Shit_ , but he was still strong there, the stubborn fool! Shadow's form wavered and softened, growing closer to collapse as she lost her fight against Vergil's will, and Griffon felt the panic rise in him. This wasn't working! Nightmare was stronger but even softer of will, and they'd all agreed Shadow was their best chance for physical restraints, and what would they _do_ if it didn't work? Talk his ear off? Griffon had the sense he could be babbling every step of the way from here to the Devil May Cry and Vergil wouldn't pay attention to a word of what he said. They needed the kitty to hold on. Maybe Griffon could provide a distraction! But what? Say something crass? Fly in his face? Hit his wounds? Griffon’s mind bounced between his options, unable to settle on any, moving too fast to actually _act_ , and-- _shit shit shit_ \--Shadow’s paws started to sink into Vergil.

She let out a low rumble and a thick black tongue ran the length of Vergil’s face. The surprise blasting through the mindlink stunned Griffon’s thoughts out of their loop, and Shadow solidified again. She promptly dropped on Vergil’s chest, stretching out like she meant to sleep there, then butted her head against the man’s chin.

“ _Wha--_ ” Vergil’s question came out as a strangled, choking noise.

That was _brilliant_. Genius! Enough that Griffon was almost jealous, truly, he should’ve known Vergil would expect opposition but not any form of caring. Constantly burying mommy’s boy, huh? But that’s who they needed to talk to, not the Urizen-like power-driven asshole he preferred to show.

“We’re just _worried_ , Vergil,” he said, flying in closer (it wasn’t even a lie, really, Griffon wanted his poetry-quoting shady human back, and every word out of Vergil’s mouth since he’d lost to Dante sounded less and less like him). “We all went through so much to stay alive, we gotta keep it that way. All four of us, we’re a team, remember?”

Instead of the surprised warm fuzzies Shadow had provoked with her licking, Griffon got hit by a blast of betrayed anger. Vergil set a hand on the panther’s face and pushed it away, already struggling to get out. “A _team_? You’re parasites.”

“Hey, _now_. Don’t ya go comparing me to Nidhogg, that’s just rude!” It also, coincidentally, hurt more than Griffon cared to admit. A parasite? He’d saved his life so many times he didn’t count them anymore! “Ya heard that, Shadow?”

Shadow answered by putting her great paw on Vergil’s face again and letting claws slowly draw out of it, prickling his skin. It was explicit enough, but if Vergil was paying _any_ attention to their bound, he’d have felt their collective shock. It didn’t seem to affect his own turmoil at all. Instead, he started pushing against Shadow’s will again, trying to make her vanish.

“This-this bond was a mistake. You never wanted anything but a host to live from and I fell for it. I--” He pushed hard and fast against Shadow and there was a surprised meow before her form shattered into mirror-like shards and sank into the ground. Vergil stumbled to his feet, his breath heavy, and Griffon could feel Shadow struggling to escape his iron will and reform. “I provided all of _you_ with a way out, a choice, and you--you won’t even let me…”

Something gave within him and he fell to his knees, like an enormous weight had shattered his self control, crushed his back and forced him down. When Griffon tried to reach for his thoughts, he met a powerful wall of anguish, the kind that lashed out at his own mind and left him reeling. That was _bad_ , oh so bad, and this time they had no kitty tongue would save them. He hopped closer, hesitant, certain anything he’d say would just make it worse--he kept doing that, didn’t he? He was made to zap enemies, not comfort broken boys.

“Vergil…” He gave a quick tap on the man’s shoulder with his beak.

“You’re using me,” Vergil whispered, still staring at the floor, his hair partially down now, his shoulders shaking. Griffon decided to pretend that didn’t mean he might be crying. He didn’t want to think of Vergil crying. It was not a thing the man did. “Everyone… everyone always is, and I always fall for it. But with more power…”

“C’mon, buddy. It’s not like that.” He nudged again and tried to push some of his own feelings through the link--memories of fun times sassing demons, of nights rambling while V pointedly ignored him, and even of their first meeting on Mallet Island, when Griffon had playfully sent thunder crashing down around this new weird general only to find him instantly riding his back, sword at his neck, threatening death (okay, that one was kinda risky, but they’d had fun times long before they were friends!). He could’ve parasited any damn human out there if he’d wanted, but apparently Vergil needed a reminder. “We’ve got history, ya know. A good one, mostly, cause you’re a good asshole to be around. We ain’t pulling a Mundus on ya, we’re… looking out for you.”

Vergil blinked and lifted his head--(oh yeah, oh shit, those had definitely been tears he’d been about to shed, christ on a pike)--and he turned his wet gaze away from Griffon. “You shouldn’t. I have nothing to offer you anymore.”

“You got _you_.” Griffon flew off, to the table where V’s battered William Blake collection waited. He picked it up and swooped right around, dropping it unceremoniously on Vergil’s head. “Ya lost your power, so what? That’s Urizen talking, but we both know that ain’t all you are. I’m tellin’ you, now that we ain’t all collectively dying, we outta live a little. Just do whatever--kill demons, find poetry recitals, fly off the highest building still standing in this dump of a city just for the heck of it! You’re a free man, Vergil!”

Vergil slowly spread his hand over the cover of the collection, two fingers spread across the letter ‘V’. Griffon could feel him pondering, and in the process his control over Shadow slipped. The big cat reappeared and immediately butted heads on him.

“Without power, I’m… incomplete,” he said.

Shadow pushed her way under his arm and flopped down on the book, and ( _a-fucking-men_ ) it drew a soft chuckle out of Vergil. His whirling thoughts seemed to have calmed, though Griffon really wished he didn’t have to deal with the waves of sadness roiling off from him. Human emotions were just _so strong_.

“Let’s start with the bits we have, all right?” Griffon asked. “How about this: ya take the time to have some fun--get some good love of life into ya first--and then we can figure out the power thing. ‘Cause at the end of the day, I ain’t against the idea of you kickin’ everybody’s ass either, even ours.”

Vergil leaned forward until his forehead rested on Shadow’s slick body. It was kind of impressive, how a forty-something arrogant bastard could so suddenly look like a child. Wings made hugs kinda difficult and Vergil would probably try and fling him into the wall for it anyway, but he found himself wishing to risk it anyway.

“Griffon,” Vergil said, his voice softened by an undercurrent of amusement. “You are aware, I trust, that this emotional link is not unidirectional.”

A spike of fear jolted through Griffon, then he burst out laughing. “Oops ah, well…” He flapped his wings with a cawing laugh. “I meant to think--oh no, how strong and ruthless our terrifying human host, how glorious and revered he is, how utterly not in need of emotional support and good company! Surely, life hasn’t shat on him like a sphincter-less bird--and, hey, did I ever tell you how _glad_ I ain’t gotta deal with that? Bein’ a phantasm sorta has its advantages.”

That drew a sharp laugh out of Vergil. “Please. I have no desire to contemplate the intricacies of demon poop.”

“Ya certain? Cause those Behemoths, when they let out, it’s something, I tell ya!”

“I beg you. Spare us,” Vergil pleaded, and a smile curved his lips, like a shy fucking flower finally daring to show up. He gestured for Griffon to come closer, and as soon as he hopped within reach, Vergil set a few fingers on the top of his beak, running them along the curve.

It was… exceedingly gentle, considering the man it came from, and Griffon stilled under it--it just… it felt so nice, okay, and he hadn’t considered he might also have kinda wanted something like it, in-between all the killing entertainment and rescuing dumb humans. In the back of his mind, he felt a hint of smug satisfaction from Vergil and realized all of _that_ had probably gone right through the link, too. Griffon shook his head, pushing Vergil’s hand off, and stretched out his wings.

“Anyway. We’re good, right? Ya don’t really think we’re just usin’ you, do ya, paper boy?”

Vergil’s hesitation almost killed his good mood. The beat of silence stretched on for an awfully long time, but he finally gave in.

“No.” Another pause, scratching away at Griffon’s limited patience. “I--” He set his hand on Shadow’s flank and frowned. “If I consider your latest offer and nevertheless decide I would rather face Dante once more, will you… will you let me?”

Panic flooded right back into Griffon before he could remotely think of containing it, and Vergil’s frown deepened into a scowl. He didn’t _want_ Vergil to go there, not in a thousand years. It was a bad decision for all four of them and it baffled him, that anyone could ever want either power or death badly enough to refuse all other alternatives. But he _did_ get the point about free will and he didn’t need cool telepathy to tell how important it was to Vergil.

“You better believe I’ll spend the entire trip explaining the hundred different ways it’s a mistake,” he said. “Might shock you a few times too. Get you a taste of what’s comin’ for your ass.” Shadow let out a low grumble then, which Griffon was pleased to convey to Vergil as “She’ll contribute to the preview.”

"But you won't _stop_ me."

Griffon let silence settle in, redirecting his attention to the others--even Nightmare, still resting within Vergil, trying to recover from transferring so much of their energy to him and get him through the worst of his healing. He was their voice, and at times that meant he had to grow a responsible bone and listen in properly. But on this, all three of them reluctantly agreed.

"We won't."

****

###

****

Vergil spent his first night reading William Blake, his overcoat once more removed, left to hang after he'd changed his ill-fitting bandages into more proper ones. They were still looser than they ought, but he had no experience with these things; always before, his wounds had healed almost instantly and left no scars. His two deepest one--Dante's last strike running from under his ribs to his belly button and the Yamato's, a thin line where it had plunged in his chest and through his lungs--were still an angry red. Vergil knew any human would've died from them, but the sight unsettled him. They would scar, as had the multiple shallower cuts elsewhere on his body, now closed, and he struggled not to be reminded of the way Mundus's corruption had cracked his skin. The scars formed a disquieting reminder of his defeat and everything he’d lost, taken by Dante.

And yet… as he sat with his bare back half-sunk in Nightmare’s strangely warm body, held by the bony plate on their chest, Vergil found himself thinking of the ways his tattoos would mostly cover these scars, masking them to immediate notice, and of everything he’d gained. He was still reeling from what he’d perceived from Griffon earlier, the unmistakable warmth seeping through their connection, and of how foreign it’d felt. He recognized the protectiveness in it--had, in time, developed a form of it for Nero as they worked together--but Griffon’s was… stronger and softer all at once, doubled with a desire for reciprocity that had shaken him. The silly bird kept calling them a family, but the word’s meaning had long since been twisted out of Vergil’s grasp.

This was something else. Something different.

_Friends,_ his mind provided, as it had atop the Qliphoth, and this time he did not discard the idea. Three friends, then. More than he’d ever had, in truth. Friends he could trust with his life, even when he couldn’t trust himself.

Vergil sighed and lowered the book. Their presence at the edge of his mind was distracting him, almost as if they were reading over his shoulder. He had grown so used to being alone, and now they stayed within him even when they’d left his immediate side. He’d done his best to limit the link, as having Griffon read his every thoughts was _not_ a state of affairs he wished to maintain, nor did he think it healthy for him to have access to so much of Griffon’s own mind.

The bird had dematerialized earlier in the night, to rest his physical form, but he’d left Vergil with a crackling ball of electricity. It floated above his head, providing enough light to read by. He would come, if Vergil called, but he _had_ sounded exhausted and Vergil wondered if he’d allowed himself a pause at all since the fight with Dante. Mere hours ago, it would have seemed an impossibility for them to cling to their physical shape until they knew him to be safe, but now… Shadow was at this very moment prowling the surroundings for potential demons and had been doing so for hours.

He reached out to her, calling her back, and was pleased when she reformed almost immediately by his side. Vergil extended a hand and Shadow morphed to engulf it, playfully stinging his palm and wrist.

“You should rest,” he said.

A ripple of magenta coursed through the patterns on her skin, setting them briefly aglow, but without Griffon to translate, Vergil struggled to interpret. Shadow let go of his hand then walked across his lap and dropped there, the heavy weight pressing his legs into the ground. Well. Maybe _that_ was resting for her. He hoped so, anyway. He set a hand on her neck, tracing some of the patterns with his fingers, losing himself in how they glowed after his passage. It was… soothing. Easy on his mind, easy on his body, occupying his thoughts just enough that they didn’t wander back to the Qliphoth, to Dante and this new defeat, to the hollow where his powers used to be and the lightness at his waist, devoid of the Yamato once more. He couldn’t allow himself to linger on these, not until he’d made his decision.

He had so often wondered how his life would have unfolded, had Dante been playing outside, and he, inside. Would his brother have sought the Temen-ni-gru as he had? Would he have made his mistakes; would he have fallen to Mundus? Always before, his mind had turned to what Dante might’ve done, yet today… today he found himself wondering what _he_ would have done, had he not constantly sought more power, desperate to keep demons both real and emotional at bay. What kind of life would he have given himself? He could take it now, could build something different with Griffon and the others. He just--he needed to let go of the Yamato, of his powers… of everything that made him, truly, a Son of Sparda.

Nightmare shifted behind him, no doubt sensing his turmoil, their two massive arms encircling Vergil’s chest and pressing, warm and gentle despite their size. His throat tightened and he leaned into the great demon, closing his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, with the help of three new friends, he could simply be Vergil and not feel like it was a betrayal of everything that had once defined him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I feel like making a birds-and-sphincter joke with Griffon is some sort of achievement. XD ALSO I promise I'm writing some really cozy & fluffy things for everyone after these four chapters!! They aren't marked as a serial (yet) but plot bunnies sure are happening anyway.


	4. Vinegar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil soon discovers that this body needs to eat and sets his sights on a very unique first meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional cw for a reference to self-harm and food/disordered eating
> 
> Quick note that I just added a chapter to this fic--this one! I thought at first it'd fit better on its own, even though it happened shortly after Chapter 3, but by the time I was done writing it, I wasn't so sure, and my beta confirmed (shoutout to Vhascometo <3)
> 
> So here you go! Something a little more on the fluff side of things!

It didn't take long for Vergil's very human's stomach to catch up to the fact that he was alive once more--completely and fully so, with all the necessities that entailed. The first lancing of hunger coursing through him had startled him. V's body had been a frail manifestation of his human soul, thin as paper and held together through remnants of demonic energy; it hadn't required actual food, only that he fused back with Urizen as quickly as possible. Griffon had joked once that he was fuelled by poetry and after that, the question of nourishment was set aside and forgotten. He hadn't needed a meal in over two decades, and it felt almost more natural _not_ to eat.

Judging by the way his stomach clamped down now, this was no longer an option. Vergil closed his eyes and evaluated his options. He was still weak from his defeat at Dante's hands, and despite a night of rest, he'd only managed to walk around the demolished floor for a handful of minutes earlier before the dizziness caught up to him. Nightmare had then forced him to sit back down, the long claws in their fists softly prickling his skin as they applied pressure. The memory still made his cheeks flush. He was not a fragile piece of porcelain to protect, damnit, yet fondness battled his frustrated humiliation at the gentle care all three demons showed him. The tiny reminders of love added up, battling the voices in his head insisting still that they were using him, that he was a fool for believing anyone cared for him in such a fashion, let alone demons he'd excised from himself like vulgar trash.

Vergil's stomach rumbled, pulling him back from his thoughts, and he set aside his poetry collection, which he'd once more been failing to read. He'd need to find himself something lighter until exhaustion stopped pulling at the threads of his mind, fraying it, but for now… it seemed he was back to ensuring his survival. At least he wasn’t alone.

He could feel all three familiars hovering at the edge of his mind. They’d chosen not to crowd him, either surveying the surroundings or resting within, yet the shift in his own thoughts must have alerted them, because it felt like they were waiting for his summon. Vergil smirked; Griffon must be dying of impatience, forcing himself not to just burst out at the most inconvenient time possible.

“Oh, _hey_!” There it was, the crackling voice of his electrified bird, quickly followed by dark blue wings and a warning spark. Griffon hovered in front of him. “I could hear that, you know!”

“Evidently,” he said, and he did nothing to conceal his amusement from Griffon.

“You smug bastard,” Griffon muttered, before swooping to his usual perch on the bookshelf and preening in forced dignity.  “I’ll show you inconvenient, you’ll see! Ya got no idea what you just got yourself into.”

Vergil chose to ignore him. Most of Griffon’s threat were empty, at any rate, and his clenching stomach reminded him he had more pressing concerns. He brought his feet under him and slowly stood, one hand on the nearby wall to steady himself. Dizziness set the world tilting under him, but it passed within moments. His body was weak, but the malnourishment might be as much to blame as the still-healing wounds.

“I would rather you find me a grocery.”

“Whatcha want that for? Groceries are _boring_!” He flapped his wings like they had personally insulted him.

“Nevertheless, it would appear this particular body requires sustenance.”

“Oh! Oh shit, oh fuck--” The surge of panic inside Griffon amused him to some extent, but Vergil did wish he would keep a better leash on his emotions. It was mildly annoying to have them flood him this way--as if he couldn’t read the bird’s anxiety well enough from the way he’d launched off his perch and flown circles above his head. “I didn’t think--ya gotta eat now? Really? Shit, no, really, makes a whole lot of sense, you’re truly you now, I just didn’t--aw, and all this time, we only fed ya blood!”

Vergil grimaced. He tried not to think of the foul blood contained within the Qliphoth roots and the horrible aftertaste on his mouth, when he’d finally woken up. “It doesn’t matter, Griffon,” he snapped. “What matters is that _now_ , we set out and find me something to eat. Go scout it out.”

“Right, right! Scouting o’clock. You’re not gonna collapse just yet and die on us, it’s all good, all good--”

Griffon’s thoughts whirled close to Vergil’s mind, scattered all over and overpowering. Vergil slammed his own over them, forcing the endless circling to a standstill and causing Griffon’s flight to dip in the surprise. “Please get yourself under control. Your fear is unwarranted and you will see little of import while your mind runs a marathon.”

To Vergil’s surprise, Griffon mentally strained against his hold and the feelings started seeping through again--except it was mostly anger, tinted with a hint of humiliation. When Griffon almost crash-landed to the ground, he was alarmed enough to release the bird entirely. Lightning burst from him, scorching their surroundings, and Vergil barely brought his arms up in time to keep his face safe. It scorched his coat and forearms instead, but the attack itself left Vergil too stunned to properly register the new, prickling pain.

“Don’t--don’t do that!” Griffon flew back to the perch and glared right at him, and although the link had gone quiet, Vergil had no doubts he was angry. His stomach twisted and sank; he’d crossed a line, he could tell, yet he failed to understand why.

“I helped,” he said.

“Oh, _you--_ ” Griffon interrupted himself, bristled, then flew off and around Vergil again. “All right, Prime Asshole, ya ain’t ever been any good with this stuff, so let me line up a few good tips for ya. First big scoop?” He banked and landed in Vergil’s hair, messing them up on purpose. “Grinding someone’s thoughts to a halt ain’t ever helpin’.”

“It worked.”

“It _hurt_!” Griffon took off again, claws digging in Vergil’s skull more than necessary. He stopped his flight right at eye level, facing him. “If my brain needs to run, then it runs. Ya ain’t got a say in it. Just like I won’t be messin’ with yours. It sure has its share of shit, too!”

Vergil gritted his teeth. He hadn’t expected it to hurt, had thought he was helping Griffon before he spun out of control. Brutally grounding himself in one way or another--including pain--was always how he’d dealt with the creeping intrusion of doubts and fears, as a youth. Better to crush them than to let them take over. But Griffon wasn’t him; he had neither the discipline nor the tolerance for pain Vergil had developed, and no desire to control his rampant feelings and keep them hidden. Maybe he actually enjoyed having his brain run faster than his own lightning.

“I mistook the whirlwind for panic,” he admitted, and in truth there had been fear threaded through it, of this he was certain. The mistake was in his action, not his interpretation. “I will refrain from a similar action in the future, however.”

“Great! Cause you ain’t gettin’ any top notch Griffon-Recon if ya intend to pull that on me again.”

“We have an understanding, then.”

Hesitantly, Vergil lifted a hand and touched the side of Griffon’s beak. The bird leaned into it with a surge of surprised joy almost as powerful as his earlier panic, and Vergil struggled not to recoil from it. He let his fingers trail the beak briefly, forcing himself to focus on the way his skin burned from Griffon’s lightning rather than how the bird seemed to melt under his touch. They both liked to pretend their relationship was on barely-grudging-respect ground, and this was… not it.

“We do need to dampen that link before we drive each other crazy with it.”

Griffon let out a pensive sound, his mind a complete blank until Vergil removed his fingers--and then he seemed to jolt awake.

"Y-yes! Link dampening, sure, yeah! Don't need your arrogance spoiling my beautiful mind all the damn time, paper boy." He flew backward, his wings crackling. "We'll figure it out. I betcha practice s'all we need, cause it didn't use t'be this intense. Ya were really high on power when you did that contract."

Vergil's throat tightened at the vivid memory of demonic energy coursing through him, crackling across his skin as he bound the three familiars to himself. He had felt so invincible, so safe. Nothing would ever feel this good again, and he didn't want to linger on it. "Let's just see to my next meal, shall we?"

 

###

 

In the end, Vergil managed five minutes of walking through the debris-strewn streets of Red Grave City before his legs refused to go on. He called upon Nightmare and settled on their shoulder for the rest of the trip, observing the city from up high. They hadn’t strayed far from the gaping crater left by the Qliphoth tree, and he couldn’t help but be impressed at the destruction inflicted by the massive roots around him. Entire buildings had been torn apart, holes in their walls and floors marking the passage of the now dusted demonic plant. Here, a carcass of cars piled up where playful demons had lingered; there, the dried out alveolic forms of families still clinging together echoed the once-alive city. To think he had caused all of this… how fascinating, that a single person could impact so many while trying to achieve something fundamentally so personal. None of them had ever been a target. He hadn’t cared about their lives, and its loss was no more than an unfortunate consequence--though he did remember lingering in the city as V, to save those he still could. That guilt was gone now, yet he found he was glad for the handful of lives saved. An indulgence to the softer side of him he’d always needed to keep in check, perhaps.

His thoughts were interrupted by their arrival at Griffon’s scouted location. His companion swooped down on the broken neons that had once spelled the shop’s name while Nightmare’s body slowly melted back into the ground, leaving Vergil back on his shaky legs. He could do this--had to, really. Remaining unable to walk for more than a few minutes was not an option. Even without power, he was a skilled swordsman, and he needed to recover his strength as fast as possible. A solid meal would constitute a decent start towards that goal, he reasoned, but there _was_ one problem.

“That’s not a grocery, Griffon. It’s a convenience store.”

“Listen here, Mister Big Words, it has rows of food and that’s a grocery in my book.”

Vergil couldn’t deny that. It would have to do for the moment; hunger was leaving him lightheaded and cranky. “One has to wonder how many different words your book contains. Four?”

“Well, it has _fuck you_ , let me tell you that!” Griffon retorted, electricity gathering along his wings.

“Unsurprising.”

He passed under the sign as Griffon muttered a reply and entered the shop. The broken glass strew all over made him glad he’d retrieved his sturdy boots instead of V’s sandals; he struggled with every step enough already and didn’t relish the idea of a shard through his heel. As soon as he’d reached the store’s shade, he was hit by a massive blast of stench, a mix of spoiled milk and rotten eggs that left him gagging. Two of the fridges at the back had broken windows, allowing the horrid smell to spread. He should have found a handkerchief. Nose scrunched up, Vergil surveyed the area, intent on planning his route and sparing himself useless roaming. The sooner he left, the better.

Despite his still rumbling stomach, he first headed to the area with utility supplies. His muscles strained at every step, and he was working himself into a dizzy sweat, but moving on his own, with purpose… it felt like a victory. He _hated_ being bedridden, could count the number of times it’d happen in his lifetime on a single hand--and most of those had happened before he’d turned ten. If he could do even this little bit of shopping without requiring a demon to carry him, he would take it.

Griffon swooped in as he reached the area, hovering above Vergil. “I’m no human expert, but that ain’t food.”

“I know.” Vergil picked off a navy backpack, zipped it open, and hooked it on Griffon’s claw.

“Oh, hey, watcha think you’re doing? I ain’t your carrier bird!” And yet, he didn’t let go of the bag. “Ya really got no respect!”

“Here I thought we were a team,” Vergil said, keeping his tone flat and the mindlink as shut down as he could. Let Griffon try to determine if he was serious while he shoved a few candles, matches, a rope and first aid materials into the pack.

“Here _I_ thought teams implied _respect_ and _cooperation_!”

Vergil’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened back up, holding himself on the shelf to ease the strain on his body. “When has any of _that_ ever been part of our dynamic?”

Griffon responded by flying the backpack straight into his face, which Vergil supposed he’d deserved. He tried to catch the bird’s leg in retaliation, but his movements remained too sluggish and Griffon dodged him with a laugh.

“Ya got me there, paper boy! S’always been more like us babysittin’ an arrogant lil’ brat.” He stilled his flight in front of Vergil, backpack gaping wide under him. “No offense meant, _of course_.”

Vergil snorted. That had long been their code for ‘every offense meant’. He patted the bird’s beak, making it as condescending as he could, before gesturing for him to follow down the aisle. His path took him past several long-broken fridges, lined up with pseudo-healthy drinks, various fruit punches and juice, and a dozen different brands of water. As he bent to pick up a few of those through the broken window, his gaze fell upon the rows of Gatorade bottles. He paused and couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, as if he expected Dante to materialize and mock his choice of colour, even though they hadn’t had this argument since he was eight. After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed a blue one and plopped it down in Griffon’s pack.

“Electric Blue, huh?” Griffon said, and from the sound of his voice, Vergil could tell he was preening. “Ya gotta honour the best of the best, that’s good--a good choice.”

Vergil straightened back up. “I have always been overly fond of the colour.”

“That’s cause you’re a man of taste, I tell ya!”

“Quite frankly, your existence has made me reconsider this liking, for a time,” he replied as he continued through the convenience store, gaze roaming the shelves and displays. He threw several nutritional bars into the pack, along with beef jerky and trail mixes, even though he wished he had fresher things to eat.

“For a time, huh?” Griffon was never one to miss on the subtleties of language that might imply a compliment to him, which also made him exceedingly easy to trap. Vergil smirked.

“Indeed. I quickly realized I would look even better in it with you as a point of comparison.” He ran a hand through his hair, tilting his head back as if to let Griffon admire, and added, “We’ll have to see about shopping once I’m in a better shape.”

It was exceedingly vain of him, and while he did draw profound satisfaction from wearing the perfect outfit, he was currently mostly looking to annoy Griffon. The bird let out a crackling sound akin to sputtering.

“Ya wish, brat! None of your fancy lil’ fabric could ever match the beauty of my shimmering plumage!” He found a perch and snapped his wings out, just to mark his point. Vergil ignored his antics and placed several bags of dried bananas in the pack. Griffon snapped his beak at him. “Try n’ outshine me, and I’ll scorch your pathetic coat right back to black!”

“Try _that_ , and I’ll write my name in your wings with the--” Reality caught up to Vergil halfway through his retort and the word ‘Yamato’ blocked in his throat, choking him. He snapped his eyes shut, fighting back waves of frustration and the humiliating knowledge his father’s sword had been ripped from him. “Never mind that,” he snapped instead.

Griffon dropped the topic, and for a time only a heavy silence trailed them as Vergil moved to the next aisle, with all the junk food. No point going through this one, then. He was about to turn away when his gaze found huge bags of chips, and he stilled, a ridiculous thought snaking into his mind.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. But would anyone blame him, if he indulged? He had not eaten in decades.

“Griffon, can you see if there’s an aisle with basic condiments? I’ll need salt and vinegar.”

“Oh, my, but ya sound like a man who just figured out his first meal! Dontcha worry, paper boy, I got you covered!”

He flew off, almost-full backpack hanging below him, and Vergil moved towards the chips, selecting an unflavoured bag. He could’ve picked a bag already marked as salt and vinegar, but when had he ever settled for the easy and cheap solution? No, there was only one way to eat true salt and vinegar chips, and he would honour it.

 

###

 

“Are ya tryin’ to kill us all?”

Griffon landed hard on Vergil’s shoulder as he kept pouring vinegar on his chips, soaking them. They’d stolen a plastic bowl large enough to contain the entire bag of chip, and he’d dumped them inside as soon as they’d returned to their temporary house on a second floor. Griffon had asked him repeatedly what he had in mind and even poked at the mindlink, but Vergil kept a tight leash on his thoughts, focusing on the sun’s warmth on his skin and the light summer breeze--things he’d barely noticed as V, too intent on his goal to let himself absorb what it meant, to have escaped Hell and be alive once more.

“And _I’m_ the drama queen,” Vergil commented, before lifting the tip of the bottle, satisfied with the pool of vinegar at the bottom of his bowl.

“The fumes alone will give me headaches for days!”

Vergil rolled his eyes, then flicked the bottle at his shoulder, splashing Griffon with the vinegar. The bird took off with an insulted cry and zapped his back in retaliation--a quick playful shock that’d mostly further ruin his already bloodied clothes. Vergil half-turned, watching him circle abovehead with a huff.

“Now that’s just rude. Ya got no manner, I tell ya, none at all. Maybe it’s all that vinegar that fried your brain!” He landed on his usual perch with a few quick flap and tilted his head to the side. “Ya really gonna eat that? It smells like poison!”

“Of course not. It smells like…” It smelled like eating crouched in an abandoned basement, hiding from the rain and starving, clinging to remnants of a shattered childhood. It smelled like a well-earned reward after hours of training to finally summon several spectral swords at once, rather than one at a time. It smelled like long nights bent over obscure tomes, decrypting the location of the seals to the Temen-ni-gru, the powerful fumes from it keeping Vergil’s mind awake. “It smells like determination.”

“I mean, you are, sometimes, very determined to die,” Griffon pointed out mildly.

Vergil glared at him, his stomach twisting at the truth behind his jest, at how much the idea of returning to the Devil May Cry still lingered in his mind. He didn’t want to think of it, not now.

“It really isn’t that awful. You’re just a weakling.” He gestured at Shadow, who’d been circling around them carefully ever since the first vapors of vinegar had spread through the room. “She doesn’t complain.”

Shadow padded closer, and Vergil couldn’t help but note her tail twitched more than usual and her ears were flat. When she rumbled and her runes lit up, he turned to Griffon for interpretation, and the cursed bird spread his wings in a way that was distinctively smug.

“Ya know what she’s saying.”

Vergil huffed, but before he could protest, Shadow leaned in and sniffed at the bowl proper. A low mewling sound escaped her, and she leaped back, her form shifting and  retracting until she’d left only a crystal sphere behind, its transparent surface lined by black claw-like marks and a magenta heart shining within. Vergil’s insides tightened at the side of the stalemate orb… until he felt the waves of amusement washing off Griffon.

He grabbed his bowl of vinegar chips and jumped to his feet, tilting his chin up and ignoring his wobbly leg and instantaneous dizziness. “You are _all_ being absolutely ridiculous.”

All except one, so he reached within for Nightmare and called upon them as he took a first unsteady step towards the exit. The ground shook under their feet as they crashed down, smashing into the street like a meteor and slowly building their form. By the time, Vergil got to the door, they’d risen to their full height and extended a fist for him.

Vergil looked back at Griffon and Shadow, the latter still in her stalemate orb--that really was pushing the joke, there--and he threw them as haughty a look as he could manage while clinging to a plastic bowl of vinegar chips, a cold sweat from the dizziness of the day’s exertion.

“Nightmare won’t mind,” he declared. “They have taste.”

Griffon cackled. “They don’t got a sense of smell, paper boy. Can’t tell your food’s exuding poisonous fumes.”

“Proof that we belong together, then,” he said, pushing his voice into a sing-song before hopping onto the fist. His knees almost gave in, but he gritted his teeth and strode along its arm with all the pride he could muster, plopping down on its solid shoulder ridge. “Thank you, Nightmare. Feel free to stroll if you’d like. We don’t need Griffon’s negativity.”

“Well, ain’t you precious?” Griffon said, flying off his perch to start circling above Vergil again, following Nighmare as they took their first step away. “Ya just gonna walk off?”

“Technically, Nightmare is walking off,” Vergil pointed out. He secured the bowl between his crossed legs. “I would appreciate a modicum of decorum, Griffon.” By which he meant silence. “This _is_ my first meal.”

“They’re chips.”

“The very best, yes.”

He picked up the first chip, and Griffon landed on Nightmare’s head without a word. Perhaps he’d sensed the growing tightness in Vergil’s stomach--his ludicrous nervosity at this. It was only food. He’d eaten plenty of times in his life, and most of it with far more nourishing than this. But these had a special meaning to him, and it had been so long… what if he hated it? He inhaled the pungent smell of vinegar deeply, its crisp and raw sensation familiar and welcomed. No way he would hate it. Even the smell made his mouth water.

Besides, he refused to give Griffon that satisfaction.

Vergil crunched down on the first chip, and the moment it hit his tongue, it felt like someone had lit up his mind. His tongue burned from the acidic taste, immediately counterbalanced by the salt, and goosebumps spread across his arms from the sheer intensity of the tastes. His stomach lurched and twisted and folded, like it couldn’t believe it was finally receiving its due, and Vergil had to grip Nightmare’s bony ridges to keep his balance. It was _so good_ , so utterly, completely delicious--to the point where it’d turn almost painful, how much it made him feel alive. A strangled laugh escaped him and Vergil hurriedly crammed more into his mouth, before it produced more undignified sounds. Soon his lips chaffed from all the vinegar, and he knew going through the entire bag would leave them dry and cracked, but every new sting, every new burning swallow renewed his astonishment. He did not remember the act of eating being this _involved_ , like every part of him had been taken hostage from the overbearing pleasure of it.

Behind him, Griffon flapped his wings, the sound a gentle counterpoint. “You, huh… you sure do love those atrocious things.”

Vergil leaned against Nightmare’s head and tilted his head back until the tip of Griffon’s beak came into view. His breath was short and every inch of his body felt lit up, as if a shock had run through his muscles and left him electrified. _Adrenaline_ , he realized, and the absurdity of it drew a shocked laugh out of him.

“I haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

He left Griffon with the mystery, finishing the bowl, relishing the chips and his companion's growing curiosity and impatience in equal parts. Soon enough, only a few chips still floated at the bottom, soaked by the puddle of salted vinegar left behind.

Lightheaded, he grabbed the bowl and turned around, to stare directly at Griffon.

“What are you--”

Griffon didn’t finish, silent horror stealing his question as Vergil brought the bowl to his lips and tilted it back, drinking the vinegar directly. The salt and acid burned down his throat as he swallowed it, warming every inch of it as efficiently as the strongest of alcohol even as his eyes watered from the mix of sting and pleasure. He set the bowl down then wiped them away, grinning and utterly unable to force his expression back to a calmer mask--this was just… gosh, his lips and tongues and throat and very stomach still burned from it, and he wished he had more, that he could keep cramming it down, even if it left him dizzy and sick.

For a time, Griffon only stared back at him, a mix of fear and amusement seeping through their mindlink. He eventually tilted his head to the side, and commented in a reverent whisper, “I take it back! Anythin’ I ever said ‘bout ya bein’ a weakling, I take it back!” A shudder coursed through his entire body, like he was trying to shake off a bad memory. “You… you’re a true demon, Vergil. There ain’t no other explanation.”

Vergil flopped back, his spine landing hard against the bony ridge of Nightmare’s shoulder, and he stared at the bright blue sky above head--the human world’s sky, so long lost to him. He was grinning still, his mind on fire with pleasure, but he didn’t laugh. That particular sound remained stuck in his lungs, swelling them, expanding his chest in a pleasant way, yet something kept it back still, decades of restraint transforming the laughter into a pleased sigh. The sky shifted with the rhythm of Nightmare’s strides and the wind pulling at the clouds, fraying and changing them. It was beautiful.

He felt a little drunk.

Vinegar wasn’t supposed to do that to him. Nothing had _ever_ done that to him, not even the rush of power coursing through his veins after he ate the Qliphoth fruit, the certainty of its supremacy even once he’d reformed. No, that had been… reassuring, like the whole world belonged to him now, and nothing could hurt him again.

But now? Now he felt completely unbalanced, like the simplest thing could throw his mind out on a loop--and it was terrifying to think of how stunned vinegar chips were leaving him, how completely dazzled by life. From the moment demons had ripped his family apart, he’d survived through discipline and self-control, almost never indulging. He’d learned to defend himself, to stay on guard at all times, to trust no one and keep a clear, steady mind. Maybe all of that had vanished with his powers, because right now he felt entirely out of control and, _worse_ , he rather liked it. It would get him killed and he didn’t care, not if the sun kept shining and vinegar still burned his lips, not if he could keep making himself feel so much it left him utterly exhausted, tears pearling at the edge of his eyes, the sky blurring away.

Great blue wings blotted his vision as Griffon hovered above him. “V, huh… are you all right?” He sounded worried. Of course he was. He always was.

Vergil reached up, running his finger through the softer plumage of Griffon’s underside. Felt almost as good as his own hair, and the surprised skip in Griffon’s flight almost as satisfying.

“You know what?” he said, his voice rough from keeping the laughter and the tears bottled inside. “I think I am, Griffon. I really am.”

Griffon landed gently, settling down directly on his chest, and Vergil let him. The weight was pleasant, like its pressure slowly eased the knots of everything he kept inside. They stayed there, silent as the sun warmed them, cradled by the rhythm of Nightmare’s strides and the occasional rumbling growl from Shadow, just him and his silly bird, and the whole world slowly opening back up to him, if he but reached and grabbed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I will always write Vergil picking up Blue Gatorade. The chips thing is something one of my colleague does and I guarantee you, we can all smell it when it happens XD BUT ALSO honestly the chips ARE better that way. 
> 
> Additional note: I marked this as part of a series now. I have outlines for four other short fics in the same universe, so huuh, this definitely isn't over. y'all can thank my overactive brain. XD


	5. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil has made up his mind about his future, but first, he must return to the Devil May Cry... one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter! Time to wrap some things up!

Bright red neons announcing _Devil May Cry_ stared back at Vergil; Dante’s life, the one he’d built for himself over decades, that he now shared with Nero and the others. One Vergil had very briefly been a part of, too, as V. Not much of one, at times, if the state of the shop had been any indication, but nonetheless… Vergil closed his eyes. Even the most pathetic dregs of a life would’ve beaten his time under Mundus, and Dante had done better for himself than one might have expected.

The gentle flap of wings warned him of Griffon’s emergence and he lifted his arm, allowing the large bird to settle down. “You sure about this? Could turn ugly real fast.”

Vergil inhaled deeply and steeled himself. Of course it could. It always could, between them. “I must try, Griffon, if only to put it out of my mind. You… you have permission to interfere.”

“All right, paper boy. We’ll have your back in there, dontcha worry.”

Vergil’s chest tightened. He hoped it would not come to that. In his brief time with his three summons, he’d discovered the limits of their new bonds, now that most of his power was gone. None of them healed as easily as they once did, and every fight with demons drained their collective energy. Vergil had never slept so much in his entire life than over the last two weeks, secreted away in high places and watched by either of the three, recovering on their behalf. He missed his supernatural endurance, demonic healing, and Yamato’s unrivalled edge, and every day the knowledge of their location had weighed more heavily on him. He had no illusions that Dante would hand them over, yet there was something unfinished there, too much left unsaid, and as time passed he found he could not ignore it. Whatever happened, he needed to speak with Dante again. One last time.

“Thank you, everyone.”

He crossed the street in a few long strides, wind billowing in his coat, and pushed the large doors open without knocking, fearful that his resolve might falter with even the slightest pause.

Three bullets greeted him as he stepped inside--one hitting the hilt of his new sword, one piercing a hole through his coat, and the third grazing his cheek, leaving a bloody trail behind. Vergil stopped, allowing his eyes to readjust to the dim light inside after the bright summer sun until they could latch on Dante, feet on his desk and leaning back into his chair, Ebony and Ivory still pointed at Vergil.

He was smiling, of course. That easy lopsided smirk he always threw at the world. Always but not quite; he hadn’t smiled, at the waterfall in Hell--not when he’d vowed to stop Vergil, and not when he’d tried to catch him. But he was now, as he’d been when he’d reached the top of the Qliphoth.

“I knew the lil’ chicken couldn’t keep you away. You’re a fucking moth, Vergil, and power’s your fire.”

Was that a hint of disappointment in Dante’s voice? Vergil’s heart hammered in his chest and his throat clamped down. He struggled to keep his expression calm and his hands from shaking. Dante gestured at the walls around, where so many Devil Arms hung proudly.

“Just pick your poison, brother. The Devil May Cry provides a wide variety of high-quality stabbing experience!”

Vergil’s gaze reflexively roamed the walls for the Yamato, desperate for one last chance to hold or even see it. The longing must’ve shown in his expression, because Dante scoffed.

“I’m afraid that option is not available.”

Vergil turned back to him and met his gaze. Serious blue eyes, their murderous intent clear and steady despite the jesting. One wrong move, and Dante _would_ kill him, as he had too often before. Yet Vergil’s carefully prepared words flew out of the window, blown away by the bitterness rising inside.

“It’s mine, Dante,” he said. “You know it belongs with me.”

“Shoulda thought of that before started usin’ it to fuck over the world, brother. Some things, you gotta be worthy of them, y’know?”

The retort burned through him, pulled hard and fast at his anger and his pride, and he found his hand at his sword’s hilt before he’d even considered the movement. Something kept him from drawing, however, three familiar presence at the back of his mind, wrapping themselves around him, reminding him _they_ thought him worth it. Vergil released the sword and straightened back up, out of his fighting stance.

“I didn’t come here to fight, Dante.” He threw the words out before he lost them again, just jumped into this conversation before their history could derail it once more. “I came to say goodbye.”

Curse it, he could almost hear the tears in his own voice. Dante must’ve, too, as he lowered his guns and threw him a curious look. “Goodbye? Your three pals worked real hard to keep you alive, y’know. Did ya ditch them?”

“No.” He pulled his left sleeve up, revealing Griffon’s ink pattern. “They’re here. I’ll be staying with them, and they with me.”

Something shifted in Dante’s smile then--it grew more sincere, Vergil realized, and the thought sent warmth coursing through him. Dante was… happy for him, somehow. In a way it made sense--he must have hoped for this when he let Griffon take him--yet the reality of it shook him more than he cared to admit. Vergil breathed in deeply and found a random point on the wall above Dante’s shoulders to stare at. He needed to finish this quickly, before he thought better of it.

“I am aware a chasm splits us, yet I must ask a favour of you, Dante. From one Son of Sparda to another. Throughout my life, I’ve had almost nothing of worth but the Yamato and my demonic powers. I would not have survived without them.” He didn’t speak of the void they left behind, the hole he’d never entirely fill, no matter what else he built. If Dante could not guess at those things himself, then they were not for him to know. Instead, he forced himself to meet his brother’s gaze. “Keep them safe.”

Dante’s smile had vanished, and he was staring back hard, almost like he wanted to set him on fire with his eyes. Vergil wished he had an inkling of what went on in his head. He hoped Dante had enough respect for him to accede to the request, but he’d so often been flippant about their father and their heritage, Vergil couldn’t help the doubts creeping in.

“You didn’t have to ask,” Dante said.

Relief washed through Vergil and he allowed it to show to some extent as he nodded. “Goodbye, Dante.”

He spun on his heels, eager to leave the dim and stuffy shop, uncertain of how long he could stand to be in Dante’s presence, at the edge of his old self, the embodiments of his previous life nearby. He clung to his familiars’ presence within him and strode back towards the sun.

“Vergil, wait.”

Dante’s voice stopped him halfway through the door. He didn’t turn, simply did as ordered: waited.

“There’s a third thing you had,” Dante said.

There was the pull of a drawer, and the familiar clink of a chain, and suddenly Vergil’s heart plummeted all the way to his heels and he spun about, freezing once more as his eyes found the golden amulet clasped in Dante’s hands. His half, unbroken, safe. His heart yearned for it so intensely it shook his entire body.

“Can’t risk giving you back the other two, but this one? As long as I got my half, you ought to keep yours.”

He flung it across the room, just far enough for Vergil to easily catch. The sunlight caught in the red gem and it shone bright in his hand. Vergil clasped his fingers around it, forcing himself to breathe calmly. He had thought it destroyed on Mallet Island, lost forever.

“Dante--” The lump in his throat choked out a longer sentence.

“Don’t forget what I told you, before you ate that stupid fruit.”

That she had tried to find him, too. She’d loved him, as much as she’d loved Dante. Only ill fate had separated them.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice raw and low. He couldn’t stay here, not if he meant to keep his pride intact. Vergil looked back at his brother and did as _he_ would: he smiled, ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

“Good luck, Vergil.”

Vergil slipped the amulet around his neck. They exchanged brief nods, acknowledgements of parting paths, of a past history too large to discuss and overcome, then Vergil strode out of the Devil May Cry, calling Griffon to his side as sunlight washed over him.  With every new step away from Dante, a pressure lifted from his heart and shoulders. He missed the Yamato still, yet the weight at his neck was a balm on that wound, a reminder of where he came from. New lives didn’t need to entirely erase old ones.

“So what now, paper boy?” Griffon asked, swooping in closer as they walked down the street. “Ya ever decided what ya wanted to do?”

“Not truly, but I have an inkling where to start.” Vergil suspected he would drift for some time still, prodding at the exact nature of this new path, untangling himself from his past to better see ahead. “When I sought to revive the Temen-ni-gru, I often unearthed unrelated demon history. My father’s rebellion left countless seals and places of power across the world, much of which is ill-documented. Finding them should keep us busy, and who knows what knowledge lays hidden with them?”

“Demon archeology, huh?” Griffon asked. “Ya just want an excuse to stuff your nose in more books.”

Vergil rolled his eyes at Griffon--what else had he expected?--and quickened his pace. Now that his mind no longer obsessed over the looming encounter at the Devil May Cry, he found himself eager to get started. He let his excitement flow through the link and snorted when Griffon countered it with an intense sense of boredom.

“Don’t worry, my friend. There’ll be plenty of dangers at the sites themselves.”

“Oh, great!” Griffon let out a shower of sparkles as a sign of protest. “Books and potential death, that’s totally my dream life!”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Vergil replied, pointedly ignoring his sarcasm.

It earned him a cackling laugh, and soon Griffon was bickering against his decision again, throwing a wall of other potential career paths for him, each more ludicrous than the preceding one. For all of his complaints, the link between them remained filled with pleasant amusement. Vergil touched the amulet at his neck, wondering despite himself what _she_ would have thought of it, if she would’ve approved. She had wanted him to live, and be loved, and although he had stumbled along the path, he intended to try his best at it now, a newfound family by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this one to my archeologist friend, who I'm sure would love to tell Vergil and Griffon they're gonna do it wrong haha. 
> 
> So here we are! This closes the first fic in this serial. I have exactly 4 more to add, but I may have made the mistake of writing the last two before the others, so I'm not sure when # 2 will pop up! ^^; It'll happen, though. I really love this AU, and the more it goes on, the softer they all are for one another :3


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